


Connections

by Lady Divine (fhartz91)



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Destiny, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fate & Destiny, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Red String of Fate, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, mention of Blaine Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/Lady%20Divine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a horrible fight, Kurt breaks off his engagement with Blaine, and wakes up the next morning with a red string wrapped around his finger which he thinks might lead him to his fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Connects Me to You

Kurt can’t sleep.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to sleep, because he does.

He wants to sleep but he can’t.

He has a pretty accurate biological clock so he knows he has to be up in about ten minutes anyway, but he was really hoping to squeeze as much sleep into every last second of those ten minutes that he could.

A persistent, annoying tugging on his left ring finger is doing its best to rob him of those last ten minutes and pry him out of bed. His finger, which till last night wore a platinum engagement band, twitches erratically as something tightens around it, and the first thing that immediately jumps to his mind is Blaine.

Motherfucking Blaine trying to shove that Godforsaken ring back on his finger.

“Blaine,” Kurt groans, running thin on patience and thoroughly unamused, “I told you last night that it’s over. Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

The tugging continues, completely undeterred by his anger. In fact, at one point, the pulling becomes stronger.

“Blaine!” Kurt screams at nearly full voice. Kurt rolls onto his back, eyes squeezed shut, and swipes at the air. He’s not in the mood to see Blaine right now, but he has no problem punching him in the neck. “I told you, I’m sick of the cheating and I’m sick of the lying! Now get out of my apartment before I shove that ring down your throat!”

When his hand doesn’t connect with anything, Kurt sits straight up in bed and opens his eyes.

He’s in his room alone. No sign of Blaine anywhere; no sign that he’s even been there this morning.

Whatever is toying with him gives one last hard pull on his finger, and Kurt jumps. He pulls his hand out from beneath his comforter and looks at his finger. No ring. Instead there’s a red string tied in place of the ring. Kurt turns his hand, looking it over top and bottom and sees that the string has a tail that spills down over his hand and onto his comforter, traveling the length of his bed and then disappearing over the edge to the floor. The red string twitches and Kurt slams his right hand over it to stop it. The vibrations from his hand carry down the line of string in a shallow wave and he wonders if whoever is at the other end of the string felt it move.

Still not convinced that this isn’t some silly half-assed romantic ploy of Blaine’s to win him over, Kurt climbs out of bed to follow the string and see where it leads. He picks up the loose portion and winds it around his hand as he goes. The string winds through his hallway to his front door. Kurt stops, his eyes staring at the point where the string feeds beneath the door, and he suddenly gets the feeling that this whole act is absurd. This has to be Blaine’s doing; Kurt knows it. After following this stupid string down to the front stoop of his apartment building where Blaine has spent the whole night, wide awake to prove his undying loyalty, there will follow hours of uncomfortable apologizing and reminiscing which will most likely result in Kurt giving in just to end the agony for a little while longer.

Well, he can’t do it. Not again. A wicked smile curls his lips as he considers cutting the string. As the thought enters his head, and plans to fish out his sewing shears and snip the thing off his finger formulate the string sputters frantically, dancing around as if it knows. It knows Kurt plans on cutting it. Kurt chuckles and rolls his eyes, but the tugging that he can only describe as panicked unsettles him.

“Alright,” he mutters out loud, “I won’t cut you, you stupid thing.”

The words tumble from Kurt’s mouth in a mumbled rush and the string immediately goes still.

Kurt gasps.

The string is slack. Kurt gives it an experimental tug and waits. After a few minutes, the string tugs back.

Kurt sighs. String or no string he should go back to bed, but curiosity is eating him alive as the pulling begins again. Kurt slips on his house shoes, not stylish but sturdy, and without even taking a moment to change clothes or put on a jacket, he opens his door and continues the trail outside, through another hallway and down a few flights of stairs until he’s out onto the street.

The sun, unusually high in the sky for five in the morning, drives the chill from Kurt’s unprotected skin, but his attention stays fixed on the string cutting along the grey cement like a tiny river. Down one street and up another, around a corner and across a street, until the string takes him to a bus stop where the bus sits waiting for him. Kurt climbs on board and puts his hand in his pocket, searching for his metro card, but the bus driver waves him away and Kurt follows the string to a seat near the back where the string sits gathered in a small pool. Kurt takes one last peek out the front windshield of the bus as the large vehicle starts to move. The bus pulls onto the main road and Kurt can see the string stretched out ahead of it, trailed over the dark asphalt.

Kurt picks up the pile of string from the seat and sits beside a petite white-haired woman staring out the window at the cars and buildings passing by. She turns and watches him fiddle with the wound pile of string unwinding swiftly in his lap as the bus drives on.

“Where are you headed, dear?” the old lady asks, looking up into his eyes with a soft smile.

“I’m following this red thread,” Kurt says, holding up his hand and showing her the string tied to his finger. “Where are you headed?”

“Oh, I’m going home,” she says, looking over the red thread, her eyes following it as it pulls through the door of the bus. “You know, some cultures believe that people who are destined to be together are connected by a red thread. It’s called the red string of fate.”

“Have you seen one before?” Kurt asks.

“Yup,” she says, nodding. “In fact, my grandson has one on his finger right now. He just can’t see it yet, and unfortunately I won’t be around when he does.”

Kurt nods, a little bounce of his head as he looks at the older woman’s serene expression. Her words sadden him, but he’s not entirely sure why. She turns to stare back out the window at the stop ahead.

“Do you believe it?” Kurt asks.

The old lady shrugs.

“I think it’s a beautiful idea,” she confesses. “I guess the important question is do _you_ believe it. You’re the one with the string on your finger.”

The bus pulls to the curb, and the old woman puts a hand on Kurt’s knee.

“I believe this is your stop, dear,” the lady says, pointing to the red thread continuing out the door.

“Thank you for your help, uh…”

“Marjorie,” the woman says with a smile, reaching out her hand for Kurt to shake.

“Kurt.”

“I know, dear,” she says, gesturing to the door with her chin. “You had better get going.”

Kurt walks to the open bus door and steps outside, taking one last look at the smiling older lady with the startling green eyes shooing him with her hands to get on his way.

The bus leaves him off in front of a tall building, and Kurt knows right away he’s uptown, but how he traveled from Bushwick to uptown Manhattan in the space of ten minutes he’ll never understand. He follows the string past the doorman and other bustling people who don’t even glance in his direction as he walks by, which he finds kind of odd considering he’s dressed in his pajamas and following a red thread. It’s almost as if no one else can see it but him…and Marjorie. Maybe only those who believe can see.

The thread takes him to the elevator and when he walks in he sees it wrapped around the button for the 15th floor. Kurt presses the button, a sense of urgency surrounding him, the premonition something inevitable is on the horizon and he needs to get to the end of the string quick before he loses what he came here for.

His future.

His forever.

The doors barely open and he slips through, pulling on the thread, holding tight with both hands as if it is his anchor, drawing him to the place where he actually belongs. Ahead of him is a door with the red string vanishing underneath. He can see it clear as day, as well as the bronze numbers screwed into the wood.

_1522_

Kurt reaches a fist out to the door, preparing to knock, but the door is already opening. A light from inside floods the hall and for the first time he notices that he’s been standing in darkness.

Darkness in the middle of the morning?

Then he notices that the light isn’t coming from the room beyond the door; it’s coming from the man’s crescent moon smile, gleaming and perfect and warm, like the sunlight on Kurt’s face. Kurt can’t make out any of his more distinct features, but for now that doesn’t matter.

“Hello?” Kurt’s mouth clamps tight around the word, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as if it’s covered in glue. The man’s smile grows wider, and he opens his mouth to say hello back.

_Bzzz. Bzzz._

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up in confusion at the sound.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt mumbles, his own mouth refusing to cooperate. “Can you repeat that?”

_Bzzz. Bzzz._

Kurt shakes his head as the door starts to close.

“I…wait? I can’t quite… No, please. Don’t go away!”

But the door is already closed shut, and when the tumblers of the lock fall back into place, Kurt flies backward into the elevator – no, not flying, he’s traveling in reverse, rewinding like a movie, relaying the gathered thread, until he’s walking backward up the steps to his apartment and climbing into bed.

Kurt tries to gain some control but it’s impossible since he never had it to begin with.

The alarm goes off one final time.

_Bzzz. Bzzz._

Kurt’s eyes snap open.

He’s in bed again.

Alone.

Alone and awake, this time for real.

_Bzzz. Bzzz._

He reaches over and picks up his cell phone, the alarm buzzing away like an angry hornet. He switches it off before it can buzz one final time, and slams it back in place. Kurt’s eyes sweep the room, starting with the open door and working his way to his bed, but there’s no sign of a red string anywhere. He looks over his comforter, pulling up the ends and shaking the thing out, even tossing it completely off his body, but there isn’t a red fiber to be seen.

He sighs, trying to convince himself that he’s relieved it was all a dream. A crazy, break-up induced dream.

Kurt runs his fingers through his hair, dropping his head into his hand.

Something tickles his face.

He opens his eyes, reaching up to sweep his bangs off his forehead when he spots it – a deep flash of red. Kurt sits motionless, busy convincing himself that it’s the last traces of the dream playing tricks with his mind. He pulls his hand away from his face and looks at his finger, fully prepared to mock himself for his own foolishness, but he can’t.

Tied around his finger like a thin little ring is a piece of red string.

It’s tied there as a reminder that maybe it was all a dream, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real; that there isn’t really someone at the end of that red string waiting for him.

Either way, Kurt’s determined to find out. He hops out of bed, slips on his shoes, and races out the door, again dressed only in his pajamas.

He can’t waste time changing.

Destiny waits for no one.

It looks as though destiny might even be on his side in his adventure. As soon as he races from his building he spots a cab by the curb and jumps in, sure he has shoved some frail old man aside, but in a very un-Kurt Hummel fashion he couldn’t care less.

“Where to?” the cabby asks with a queer smirk and now Kurt’s sure he shoved some poor old guy out of the way.

“The Avalon. Upper East Side.” The words come out as if they were waiting to be spoken.

Kurt’s rational brain knows this is all ludicrous. He knows that the dream and the red ring of string are simply ways his mind has chosen to cope with the emotionally draining events of last night. He probably tied the string to his finger before Blaine showed up to remind himself to buy milk in the morning, and the fight they had caused him to forget.

Even though he’s an intelligent man and knows all of this, he fidgets in his seat with excitement.

The cab seems to hit traffic on every single street, and a trip that should have taken thirty minutes at the most has already lasted over an hour. Trapped behind some massive gridlock, Kurt can see the Avalon looming overhead, and he can’t sit any longer.

“I’m getting out,” he yells louder than necessary, pulling his wallet out of his pocket, amazed that he remembered it this time, and throwing a few twenties in the front seat beside the driver. He’s sure he’s overpaid by at least forty dollars, but he bolts out of the cab and takes off down the street on foot, the whole time chanting in his head, “This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy.”

His mind fills with pictures of him racing up to apartment 1522, knocking on the door, and being greeted by the confused and slightly frightened stares of a cute old couple while he tries to explain that he had a dream that his future lay somewhere behind their front door. As the daydream gets more vivid, with images of him being arrested as he yells, “It’s okay! Marjorie believes in me!”, he manages to blow past the doorman and make it to the elevator without anyone stopping him.

He stops and stares at the elevator he’s locked in. It looks the same – exactly the same as his dream. He pushes the button to the 15th floor and tries to recall any time he’d ever been to the Avalon, even for a moment, maybe just to use the bathroom.

With the exception of last night, he can’t remember a single time.

Suddenly, his heart starts to pound.

He watches the lights on the elevator number panel bounce from button to button, his whole body shaking in anticipation of the moment when it would land on fifteen. The doors slide open and he slips out, barreling straight toward apartment 1522 with his arm outstretched.

Here’s his moment. His brain screams at him to stop but his body hasn’t gotten the message yet because he’s at the door now knocking like a mad man, his heart leaping, every cell in his body telling him without a shadow of a doubt that this is where he belongs.

The door swings open and a man steps out, wearing a stunning black Armani suit along with a wolfish grin on his otherwise startled face. Kurt’s smile dies and his racing heart stops short as he finds himself staring into the glowing green eyes of the last man he ever thought he would see in New York.

Sebastian.

Sebastian Smythe.

Kurt stumbles backward a step, wondering if he’s going to be magically sucked back into the elevator, but he has no such luck.

“Well, well, princess,” Sebastian says, looking Kurt up and down without shame or apology, “long time no see.”

“Oh fucking hell,” Kurt breathes through numb lips. Sebastian pulls back a bit at Kurt’s response.

“Hello and good morning to you, too,” Sebastian chuckles. “May I ask what you’re doing here? I mean, I thought we had a doorman downstairs to keep people like you out.”

“I think I’m here to see your roommate?” Kurt asks hopefully. “Or brother? Or cousin?”

_Please fictional demigod, let someone else live here._

Sebastian shakes his head, his smile dipping at the edges at Kurt’s desperation.

“Nope. No one here but little old me, and as much as I would like to shoot the shit and reminisce, I kind of have a funeral to go to, so if you don’t mind…” Sebastian makes a shooing motion with his hands that pricks Kurt with an inescapable feeling of déjà vu, but he doesn’t take the time to mull through it. When Kurt doesn’t leave right away, Sebastian crosses his arms and watches the show of emotions on Kurt’s face as they go from disbelief to embarrassment and finally disappointment.

“I…I kind of got a message to meet someone here,” Kurt explains quietly, explaining it more to himself than to Sebastian and frowning when he realizes it doesn’t make any more sense out loud than it did in his head. “I guess I was wrong. I’m sorry I…interrupted…I’m sorry for your loss.”

“No b. d., but thanks,” Sebastian says with a shrug, but Kurt can tell that Sebastian’s more bothered than he’s letting on. Kurt knows the face of grief when he sees it. He nods and gives Sebastian a wave as he turns to leave. With his back to him Kurt misses how Sebastian’s eyes suddenly widen when he catches sight of Kurt’s hand.

“Uh, Kurt?” Sebastian calls after him. Kurt stops and turns, his hand still hovering in the air.

“What?”

“What’s that?”

Sebastian points to Kurt’s hand, his face drawn, becoming paler by the second. Kurt looks at his hand, having completely forgotten about the piece of red string tied around his ring finger.

“Oh, this?” Kurt says, pulling his hand behind his back to hide the string, knowing it was too late and he was about to get ribbed from Egypt and back for having it on his finger. “It’s…I tied it there to remember…to buy milk, on my way home.”

If Kurt could have face-planted without Sebastian noticing, he would have. As it is, he’s making plans to do it the second he gets back to the elevator as punishment for being such a disaster under stress.

“Is that so?” Sebastian bites his lip and looks thoughtfully at the arm tucked behind Kurt’s back.

“That’s right,” Kurt says in defense of his lie that Sebastian isn’t buying. “Why?”

“Well…” Sebastian steps out into the hallway and raises his own left hand for Kurt to see. Kurt’s mouth drops, his stopped heart stuttering to race again as his eyes fall on a bright red piece of string tied in a knot around Sebastian’s ring finger, “I think you and I might have something to talk about.”

 


	2. What Connects You to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to write a continuation to 'What Connects Me to You', but from Sebastian’s POV. So here it is. Warnings for death of an OC and mention of sex. (You may want to re-read the first part so you can see how the events meet up.)

Duffel thrown over one shoulder, carrying his coat in the crook of his bent arm, Sebastian races through the gate and onto the tarmac. The private jet he chartered last minute to get to New York City sits with the hatch open and the stairs extended, waiting for him to arrive. It’s a little past three in the morning and he knows that they won’t get clearance to leave for at least another half hour, so running really doesn’t move anything along or matter in the slightest, but it feels like doing something, like accomplishing something. If he’s running instead of walking then he’s getting to his destination faster.

When he hits the stairs he takes them two at a time with his singular piece of luggage in tow. The harsh light inside the plane – bright white and unforgiving compared to the serene dark outside, fuels his blinding headache, but he ignores the way his eyes sting and his head spins. He settles down into a leather seat and tries to relax. He waves away a stewardess offering him a drink and closes his eyes, breathing slowly in and out, in and out, but it’s no use. His whole body buzzes with a need to be in the air.

Sebastian detests New York. His friends in high school always talked about it like it was the ultimate goal; the end all be all, most likely because they had spent their whole lives in Ohio, and New York seemed like the pinnacle of ‘making it’ in life. But for Sebastian, New York is too loud, too dirty, and way too crowded. Living there, even in his towering penthouse far above the unceasing bustle of the city, he never found a moment of quiet, never any peace, never enough room to breathe.

He much prefers to spend his time at the Smythe family estate in France – quiet, quaint, out of the way, nestled in the hills of the lush, green countryside but close enough to Paris that he can always find any type of diversion, day or night, along with plenty of young men to fill his every sordid need.

He doesn’t want to go back. In fact, it’s essential for his sanity that he stay out of the states. He’s burned too many bridges, both personally and professionally for returning to even be a viable option for his life. There’s only one person he would return for, one person he loves enough that he would endure doing the one thing that he really doesn’t relish doing - facing his mother and father. He had expected the call eventually, but not now. It’s too soon. He needed time to fix everything. He had intended on making things right, but he never got the chance.

Missed opportunities and good intentions; the story of Sebastian Smythe’s life.

Now he gets to step into the fray, a day late and a dollar short.

It seems like such a stupid ass expression, but right now, heels tapping against the floor because his legs can’t seem to stop moving as he waits for the Goddamned plane to get into the air, he finally realizes what it means.

There is no real way he can mend things. He just has to make it better.

The flight to New York is long – painfully, gut-wrenchingly, mind-warpingly long, and during the whole trip he can only think one thing; he’s too late. He should have been there earlier but now it’s too late, and not only did he miss his chance, but he broke his promise.

Some guardian he turned out to be.

***

Sebastian loves his grandmother, more than any other human being in his whole world. Her kindness, compassion, and generosity shaped him throughout his life. She was the soul of everything his parents should have been but weren’t. She treated him like he was the smartest, most talented, most amazing boy on the planet. She always listened when he spoke, attended every lacrosse game, every show choir competition. No matter what was important in his life, his grandmother supported him. She stood by him. As she got older, he envied her independence and energy. She traveled the world alone, went bungee jumping, skydiving, parasailing; she didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. Age never truly slowed her down, but her declining health did, and when she got older but still aware enough to take care of her own affairs, she named Sebastian her guardian, her power of attorney, and the executor of her estate.

She didn’t seem afraid of anything, except that his father might stick her in some dilapidated nursing home to wither away and die, strapped to a bed when dementia finally set in.

Sebastian swore that he would spend every cent of his trust fund if he had to in order make sure that didn’t happen.

Then something unexpected happened; Sebastian’s parents suddenly remembered they had a son; a son with more faults than they could count, who enjoyed a lifestyle that doesn’t necessarily fit in with their white collar, country club ideals. They turned friends against him, allies, even lovers. They picked and prodded, persecuted and threatened until Sebastian couldn’t stand it any longer.

Sebastian didn’t think of escaping the country as surrendering or running away, but as a necessary evil to avoid him finally breaking down and hiring out a professional hit on Donna and Andrew Smythe.

After the rift between him and his parents became impossibly wide, too wide to ever sew together, he left the states, but only for the time being, until things cooled down and words that couldn’t be taken back blew over he explained, and his grandmother understood, even if secretly in her heart she knew how this would all play out. He swore that he would be there to take care of her. Like so many promises he made to so many people, he broke this one. She didn’t hold it against him, which was probably the best and worst part about it. She didn’t want her young grandson to stop living his life because he had signed a few pieces of paper.

Besides, she was well aware of how much of an ass her son and his wife could be.

Sebastian did sincerely have every intention of sending for her and bringing her out to spend her last days in the countryside with him when she felt it was time, but fate stepped in and destroyed his plan by accelerating her condition to the point where she was hospitalized immediately.

Again his parents stepped in, this time remembering that the matriarch of the family was dying, and that stipulations to her will needed to be revised and contested, a task that should be easy since the only person who could stop them hadn’t been heard from in years. They wasted no time isolating her in a secure hospital of their choosing, distancing her from all of her friends which included firing her private nurse.

Antoinette Beauchamp, best friend and oldest confidante to Marjorie Isabella Bonnet Smythe, did not take being let go by the overbearing and boorish Andrew Smythe lightly. The first thing she did once the ambulance carrying poor, confused, and frightened Marjorie drove away was pull out her cell phone and call the only person who could possibly help her.

***

Sebastian’s jet touches down at the airport around noon. He’s greeted at the terminal by a welcoming committee that consists of lawyers he hired by phone overseas, all in nearly matching suits and carrying identical briefcases, wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses even though it’s foggy as hell and mostly overcast. Sebastian smirks. He hired the Men in Black to rescue his grandmother. When did Sebastian Smythe become a man surrounded by lawyers on retainer? That man was his father, not him.

He’d hang himself from the nearest tree if he thought he was becoming anything like his dad.

In a rampant flurry of activity, Sebastian is ushered out to a waiting car, briefed in surround sound by all five lawyers along the way, handed more papers to sign, and when he’s settled in the backseat of the rented luxury vehicle he’s offered a bottle of water and a turkey sandwich. He eschews going to his penthouse for a hot shower or a change of clothing, and heads straight for the hospital, instructing the driver not to worry about the lights.

He’s already wasted enough time.

Highland Hospital is about as first class as one can get, and in retrospect if Sebastian had to pick a place in the city to care for his grandmother this would most likely be it. As the driver pulls up out front to let him and his team out, Sebastian feels only a slight pang of guilt that he’s about to storm it like the Bastille.

They march like a battalion up to the geriatrics department where Marjorie Smythe is being kept, hidden under the name ‘Malorie Smith’, the pseudonym she used to use for fun when the family took vacations together once upon a time. Sebastian smiles with the memory as he finds the room, blowing by nurses frantically waving for his attention, and barges in. The room is pristine, sterile, cold; the walls painted pure white and everything matches from the linens on the bed to the cabinets and the curtains. It’s enough to give Sebastian an even larger headache than he already had. It physically makes him sick. It’s everything an exorbitant hospital room should be to house an elderly woman whose family is simply waiting for her to die. His mother and father sit at her bedside, and to any outside observer passing by they look like the picture of a devoted family holding vigil, but Sebastian sees them for what they are: vultures waiting for her to pass on so they can call the lawyers and cut the checks.

If they want their money, they’ll get their money, but not today.

Sebastian pushes past his father where he’s sitting, reading an article from CNN on his iPhone, and hovers protectively over his grandmother, brushing a few snowy white locks from her forehead. Her eyelids flutter with the gentle touch, and slowly start to open.

“Mamy,” Sebastian whispers softly. “Mamy, open your eyes.”

Marjorie’s green eyes, still clear, brimming with intelligence, look up at her grandson, opening wider with childlike awe when she sees his face. She raises a hand to touch him, to feel his clothes and trace the lines of exhaustion beneath his eyes, making sure it’s really him standing above her and not a dream.

“You’re here,” she says.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” His smile brightens when he speaks even though his voice is thick with tears.

“That’s okay, my beautiful boy,” she chirps excitedly. “As long as you’re here.” She glances from side to side, eying the annoyed faces of her son and daughter-in-law, and grimaces. “These awful people are waiting for me to die, but I won’t give them the satisfaction.”

“That’s my girl,” Sebastian says with a chuckle. “I’m going to take you home.”

“Now see here,” his father interrupts, grabbing at Sebastian’s coat and trying to pull him away. Sebastian bristles at the touch, shrugging the hand from his shoulder with a violent shake. He refuses to be bullied by his father, not with his grandmother’s life at stake. Sebastian stands straight and tall, his true height a good head above his father’s. Sebastian glares down at the self-righteous man, but opts not to speak, instead motioning to one of his Men in Black to step over and explain why none of his dad’s impotent arguments are going to mean shit in the long run.

His father doesn’t want to back down, but after hearing words like ‘lawsuit’ and ‘breach of contract’ thrown at him, he reluctantly steps to the side to continue the conversation with more than a veiled interest, especially if he’s about to be sued. From out of thin air a doctor materializes at Sebastian’s side, less intimidated by the army of lawyers than his father.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man says, his voice carrying a heavy accent Sebastian knows but can’t exactly place, “I’m going to need you to leave. This patient…”

“Don’t leave me,” Marjorie squeaks, putting a hand on Sebastian’s arm and squeezing as tightly as her frail fingers can manage. Sebastian looks over his shoulder, smiling down at his grandmother with a wobbly grin and watery eyes.

“Never,” he says. “Never again.”

Another lawyer magically appears, handing the doctor one of several packets of paperwork which outlines Sebastian’s authority in the matters of Marjorie Smythe, down to the tiniest detail.

“I don’t understand,” the doctor says, flipping through the multitude of pages which include a living will and a DNR. “But isn’t that gentleman…”

“Yes,” Sebastian sneers, looking past the man in the white coat to lock glares with his father, “technically that man is her son, but I am her legal guardian. Her will stipulates that she doesn’t wish to spend her last days in a hospital. I have a private ambulance service waiting outside, and I’m taking her home with me.”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says, looking over the paperwork one last time with a shake of his head, “but I can’t release…”

Sebastian sighs, loud and long and with enough condescension that it shuts the doctor’s argument down completely. He knows that there is really nothing this doctor can do to keep him from taking his grandmother home. Even if by some miracle this man had a judge in his back pocket that could stay his hand, Sebastian had one, too. Several, actually, on speed dial, and he is certain that they are bigger and nastier than any this doctor or this whole hospital can conjure up. But he doesn’t have that kind of time, so he decides this once to try and appeal to the man’s better nature.

“Doctor,” Sebastian says, dropping his voice so the other ears in the room can’t hear his impassioned discussion, “there’s nothing you can do for my grandmother. She has a DNR in place and with her diabetes and advanced heart disease she doesn’t have any organs worth taking.” Sebastian looks into the doctor’s weary brown eyes. “She doesn’t want to die in a hospital. It’s her wish. Please, don’t make me go through crazy lengths to fulfill my grandmother’s wishes.”

Sebastian waits, a whole slew of perfectly legal threats on standby, but the doctor drops his head and relents.

“Give me a minute to grab her file,” he says, “so I can give you instructions on how to keep her comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian says, but the doctor walks away quickly, taking the paperwork and leaving the room.

“Sebastian!” his mother scolds, crowding into his personal space as if she has the right, with a manicured finger pointed accusingly in his face. “You can’t do this. Your grandmother needs special care.”

“Which she will get,” Sebastian says, ignoring the petty woman and turning his attention back to his grandmother, who stares up at him with unabashed joy, “with me. Now you may go.”

“I will not be dismissed by you, young man,” his mother roars. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

“The Wicked Witch of the West?” he retorts smoothly, and his grandmother giggles like a little girl.

“You watch yourself!” Donna barks, finger coming dangerously close to Sebastian’s cheek.

“Or what?” Sebastian says, completely nonplussed and frankly done with his mother for the rest of his life. “You can’t touch me. You can’t touch either of us. So why don’t you do what you do best and ignore us? Go shopping. Get drunk. It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

The doctor comes back in and hands Sebastian a stack of paperwork of his own, mostly liability waivers, and without a word more his mother’s existence is effectively forgotten. The ambulance driver and an EMT follows and loads Marjorie onto a gurney, preparing to whisk her away from the clutches of the evil trolls who stare on in bitter silence as their cash cow rolls away.

“I demand you tell us where you’re taking her,” his mother calls out, tailing the party out into the hall.

“Yes,” his father agrees albeit half-heartedly, “I demand to know where you’re taking my mother.”

“Don’t worry, dad,” Sebastian says without bothering to stop or turn around. “You don’t need to worry about grandma. Your check’s in the mail.”

***

Sebastian forgoes the comfort of the luxury car and travels to the city in the back of the cramped ambulance, holding tight to his grandmother’s hand. He remembers the first time he broke his leg while he was visiting Coney Island. It was a freak accident. He was roller skating on the boardwalk when his wheels hit a corndog stick and locked up. He tripped, falling forward and landed awkwardly on a metal bench. He was scared when the ambulance came to take him away. For some reason he thought he would never see his grandmother again, but she climbed in the back and sat beside him, holding his hand the entire way.

Here they were again in much the same way. He prays his grandmother isn’t afraid like he was.

The medical technicians wheel his grandmother carefully up to his penthouse. Sebastian hasn’t had time to air the place out properly. He hasn’t actually been there in years. He opens the door, not sure what might greet them when they finally get inside, but when he turns on the lights it feels like he never left, and he’s pleasantly surprised to find that the place looks as warm and inviting as it did the last time he saw it. He instructs the men to wheel his grandmother up to the large picture windows in the living room, and there he intends her to stay, with a view of the city stretched out before her. They set up her IV and all the other various machines she needs. One of the men – a rather handsome Asian man who seems to have a special smile for Sebastian - is nice enough to walk him through the setup and use of each machine, but the minute the information enters Sebastian’s brain it seems to slip out again.

Sebastian’s muddling through, turning off alarms and fiddling with bags of clear fluid in his shaking hands when Antoinette arrives. Sebastian takes one look at her and pulls her into his arms, hugging her tight. The older woman laughs, patting him on the back, and kisses him on the cheek.

“It will be alright, young master,” she says in that thick provincial accent years of city living couldn’t seem to erase. “We will take care of her together.”

Sebastian watches Antoinette readjust the settings on the machines with ease, replacing IV bags and injecting them with medications, reading through the chart the doctor gave Sebastian and making marks on the bags with a black Sharpie in a language that looks a lot like English but that Sebastian can’t even begin to understand. He never quite realized how much work went into keeping someone alive for a few weeks longer, but he doesn’t have any regrets.

Sebastian pulls up an overstuffed armchair. He sits by his grandmother’s bed and that’s where he stays. He reads aloud from her favorite classic novels, the daily comics, articles from magazines. He tells her what the weather looks like outside. He describes his time (well, the G-rated portion of his time) in France – the museums he went to, the new restaurants he ate at, how the estate (which passed from her family to her husband’s, and eventually will pass to Sebastian) is holding up. He barely leaves her alone to eat or shower, choosing to sleep by her side in his chair instead of retiring to his luxurious king-sized bed in the master bedroom.

Antoinette begins to worry about Sebastian and tells him he needs to get out, get some fresh air, even if for an hour. She tells him it’s what Marjorie would say if she could (the older woman’s ability to speak had left her a few days after she arrived) but he refuses. She brings him a plate of eggs and bacon, and lets the matter slide with a secret grin since she knows he gets his stubbornness from Marjorie.

Sebastian has his own personal reasons for not leaving his grandmother alone; superstitious reasons that he doesn’t want to divulge to anyone. His grandmother was diagnosed with heart disease after she suffered her first major heart attack. Sebastian had been with her at the time and it scared the life out of him. He was sure he was going to lose her then and there, but she told him that even when she lost consciousness she wasn’t afraid because Sebastian had been there with her.

Marjorie knew that when she died, she was going to die alone.

Marjorie’s condition doesn’t improve during her first two weeks at Sebastian’s penthouse, but besides the loss of her voice and her penchant for sleeping longer and longer it doesn’t seem to get worse either, and Sebastian lets himself be lulled into a sense of security that he will have his grandmother with him for the remainder of the month at least. Once they get to that milestone, then he can set another one, taking things a day at a time for as long as he needs.

Now that he is more secure that he’s not about to lose her anytime soon, he begins to realize how vile and disgusting he feels. Since she’s sleeping peacefully, her heart monitor beeping in an even and steady pace, he decides to leave his grandmother’s side for his first real shower and shave.

Marjorie Smythe is a lady in every sense of the word, and a lady always knows when it’s time to leave a party. That’s what life really is after all – one big party. The one Marjorie’s living has been swell so far, but there are people waiting for her.

Sebastian takes longer in the shower than he plans, but it’s worth it to feel human again. He steps out of the bathroom dressed in a fresh polo and a comfortable pair of blue jeans, clean shaven, relaxed, and ready to face another chapter of _Mansfield Park_ when a somber Antoinette intercepts him in the hallway.

“Wh—“ is the only syllable that passes his lips. Antoinette’s brown eyes stare up at him and he takes a step back.

“But…she was fine,” Sebastian stammers. “I…I only left her for a minute. I…”

“Sebastian,” Antoinette whispers, putting a hand on his arm, “I don’t think she has much time left, so if there’s anything you want to say to her, I’d say it now.”

Sebastian swallows hard and looks past the petite nurse into the living room. From where he stands he can only see the IV pole and the head of Marjorie’s bed, and suddenly sitting by her side is the last place he wants to be, because if he’s there he’ll be watching his best friend in the world die, but if he leaves now he can fool himself into thinking that it didn’t happen. Maybe it won’t if he’s not there to witness it. He’ll leave now. He’ll run away and his grandmother will live, even if he doesn’t get to see her again.

Sebastian scolds himself for the thought.

Running away.

That seems to be what he’s best at.

He looks down at Antoinette, the smile he tries to force onto his face weak and heartbroken. He steps around her, wandering back to the living room and sitting down in his chair. His grandmother looks so small in her bed. Was she always this small? How did he not notice how tiny and delicate she was? Maybe because it didn’t matter to him. His grandmother was always strong. It didn’t matter if she was tiny. Tiny can be strong.

Sebastian doesn’t think he has anything to say, but he clears his throat anyway. It seems to open a flood gate to things he didn’t know were waiting to be said.

“I love you, mamy,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left for so long. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me.”

Sebastian reaches out and takes his grandmother’s hand, running a thumb over the white, paper-thin skin.

“I’m sorry I wasted so much time being selfish. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a house full of rowdy great-grandkids like you wanted. There was never anyone special enough…” The words stop short in his throat as the image of one man leaps unexpectedly to mind. “Well, that isn’t exactly true,” Sebastian says with a sly but wavering smile on his lips. “I…I never told anyone, but there was one guy I met a long time ago, in high school actually. Kurt…” The name lodges in his throat and he coughs, trying his hardest not to shed any tears. “His name is Kurt. He’s married now, I think.”

Sebastian pulls his chair closer to his grandmother’s side, needing to be close to her if this is the last conversation they’re ever going to have together.

“I guess it doesn’t matter. I missed my chance. It’s not like he’s going to show up on my doorstep one day, huh?” Sebastian laughs wistfully. “Maybe…maybe I should go after him. That’s what you would do, right mamy? You wouldn’t let anything stand in your way.”

Sebastian feels his grandmother’s fingers tighten around his hand and he gasps. It’s fleeting and feeble. It’s almost like good-bye.

“I’m going to miss you, mamy,” he rushes out, breathing faster in his effort to say everything he needs to say. “I’m going to miss the sound of your laugh, and the way that you frown at me and call me ridiculous every time I do something you don’t agree with. I’m going to miss talking to you about the future. Remember when we said we were going to sail around the world? We bought a map and put pins in all the places we were going to dock. I wish I had a little more time…”

As luck would have it, that is all the time Sebastian gets.

Alarms go off.

Monitors beep.

One in particular lets out a tinny, sustained tone.

Sebastian bites his lip and nods to no one. It’s over.

He’s out of time.

He failed.

Antoinette walks in but doesn’t say a word. She starts shutting down machines, detaching monitors, making the room quiet again before retreating to the kitchen to deal with her own tears, giving Sebastian more time alone with his grandmother before the necessary unpleasantries begin.

At some point in the still and the quiet, Sebastian stands and kisses his grandmother’s cheek.

“Je t’aime tant, mamy,” he whispers in her ear, hoping that somehow she can hear. “Tu vas me manquer pour le reste de ma vie.”

***

Antoinette calls the hospital and the hospital calls the police. Sebastian doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s protocol for when someone dies at home. Maybe it’s because the doctors on staff at Highland want to be sure that the slightly unstable and disheveled man who stormed into their midst over a week ago didn’t decide to up and euthanize his grandmother when things got too tough to handle. They arrive surprisingly quickly, knocking on the door with short, rapid fire taps, and Antoinette lets them in. Sebastian doesn’t bother looking up, but he can imagine the commanding and authoritative expressions on their stern faces. The two officers introduce themselves to Antoinette and then stalk toward him.

“Mr. Smythe?” the lead officer says.

“Yes,” Sebastian replies, his voice flat and expressionless, eyes glued to his grandmother’s hand.

“We got a call that your grandmother passed away.”

Sebastian breathes in deep, letting all the acidic remarks dissolve in his throat.

“Yes,” he says again.

A pregnant pause fills the air. The officers usually have more to say but they can’t. One look at the distraught young man holding his grandmother’s hand answers their questions for them. They share a look, a practiced signal between them that needs no explanation. The second officer pulls out his phone.

“Yeah, central? I need a bus at The Avalon, Upper East Side. 1522…No, no. It was her time.”

Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut. Antoinette crosses the room and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Sebastian,” she says quietly. “It’s all better now. Your grandmother has gone home.”

Sebastian doesn’t stand up from his chair when the coroner comes and takes his grandmother’s body away. He doesn’t stand when the police hand him a copy of an incident report and their business card, along with their condolences. He doesn’t stand up when Antoinette asks him if he needs her to stay. He shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I’ll be fine. I’m…I’m going to call the funeral home. That nice one on east 87th. I want to have her wake tomorrow.”

“Call me and let me know.” Antoinette’s own bottled up emotions finally get the best of her. “I’ll be there.”

Sebastian nods again, sitting perfectly still when Antoinette places a peck and a few tears on the crown of his head and sees herself out.

Everyone leaves and the silence takes over.

No beeping heart monitor.

No hissing oxygen tank.

No jarring warning alarms.

Sebastian is surrounded by a heavy, oppressive lack of noise that seems to chill him through and through, but he’s too tired to deal with it. Even if the angel of death himself had stayed behind to reap Sebastian as well, he couldn't care less. He needs to stick to his original plan – get through this day and move on to the next; stick to the milestones he set in place, even if his grandmother is gone.

He busies himself with phone calls, details, ironing out all the odds and ends that no one tells you you’ll have to handle when a loved one dies. He calls the funeral director, orders a casket, has the family plot opened. He arranges for the pickup of the hospital bed he rented and all the machines, wondering if the same handsome Asian guy is going to come pick everything up. Maybe he would be willing to stop by after his shift and help Sebastian forget about all this for a little while.

The day passes and Sebastian’s only notice of it is the shadows that shrink and disappear and stretch again across the floor as the sun moves through the sky. He gets everything done in a shorter amount of time than he anticipates, and the few hiccups he does encounter he manages to overcome with a potent combination of charm and money.

By the end of the day he finds himself sitting in the armchair again, staring at the empty bed. The medical rental company had some kind of blow-out in their truck on the way over, and had to move pick up of the equipment to the day after the funeral. Sebastian almost considers staying at a hotel for the night so he doesn’t have to see it, but something keeps him tied to the penthouse, an expectation, like if he waits long enough something will happen.

Sebastian leans back and shuts his eyes, not expecting sleep to come quickly, or at all, but sleep does come in the strangest way possible – suddenly and all at once, like the flicking of a switch.

He’s locked in an unconsciousness that comes with no real rest and no desire to wake up.

He hears laughter coming from somewhere beyond his closed eyes, but he hasn’t the energy to open them. Then a voice. A familiar voice, one he hasn’t heard in the flesh for years, but that he hears almost every night in his dreams.

_Okay, well, I never really liked you, but I trust your grandmother. Maybe…maybe we should give this a chance._

Sebastian’s eyelids snap open. He sits straight up in his chair and looks around the dark room. There’s no one there with him, but the laughter lingers a little longer before fading away entirely. Sebastian grips the arms of the chair with white knuckles, and without warning his hand cramps up, his left ring finger twitching like mad. Sebastian grabs at it with his right hand, rubbing the rigid digit until he can feel the muscles start to relax again. He considers abandoning sleep for a cup of coffee and wear the night thin reading or watching some mindless t.v., but all too swiftly sleep carries him away again.

_“So, you’re trying to get me to believe that you love me? That you’ve been in love with me all this time, even though in high school you acted like you hated me?”_

_Bright blue eyes glare at him from across the table, but behind the simmer of incredulity Sebastian can see a smile hiding._

_“That’s right,” Sebastian admits._

_A pause. A moment of indecision…and then a cube of cheddar cheese tossed in Sebastian’s face._

_“Sebastian Smythe, you’re so full of shit!”_

_Another laugh, clear and refreshing like the wash of rain on a hot and muggy summer’s day._

The twinge in his hand returns, stronger than before, but it doesn’t wake him completely. Sebastian reaches over and takes his own hand, rubbing along the muscles until the twitching dies down and he can go back to sleep.

_“Really, Sebastian? The Avengers? What in the world makes you think I would actually enjoy this…wait a minute. Who’s that?”_

_“Who?”_

_“Him? The guy with the shield and that killer ass?”_

_“That would be Captain America.” Sebastian rolls his eyes and sits down on the sofa beside his besotted boyfriend. The man beside him moves close, snuggling against him, reaching into the bowl in Sebastian’s lap for a handful of popcorn._

_“Well,” he says with a devilish smile in his voice that makes Sebastian weak, “don’t knock it till you’ve tried it I always say. By the way, is that an outfit you could like…you know…rent…somewhere?”_

Sebastian opens his eyes. He must have fallen asleep at some point during the movie. It would make sense. It’s been a long day. He blinks, his eyes darting around, sleep addled and confused. He’s alone. Utterly alone, but the dream seemed so real, the laughter, the warm body by his side, even the smell of popcorn hangs in the air.

What the fuck is going on?

Sebastian makes the decision that he’s slept enough. The idea of heading off to a hotel seems more appealing than ever before, but it’s almost 5:30 in the morning. Not his preferred time to get up in the morning, but for now he’ll take it. He wants to be out and on the road by eight o’clock anyway, this way he can meet with his lawyers right after the service, cut the checks, and be on the next plane out of New York and back to his hideaway.

He showers quickly since he doesn’t need to shave. No matter how hot he makes the water, he can’t seem to relax. He considers rubbing one out, but in the end it doesn’t seem appropriate. He steps out of the shower, dries off, and mechanically he dresses in the black Armani suit he laid out hours before. He finishes tying his necktie and takes a look at the antique clock on the wall.

_6:30 a.m._

“Well, shit,” Sebastian mutters. He had hoped it was at least 7:30, then he could justify taking a leisurely walk down to the café on the corner and ordering himself some breakfast, which he probably won’t eat, but it would give him something to do, an excuse to leave which he finds that he needs, ridiculous as it may seem.

He still feels like he’s expecting something to show up.

He sits back down in the armchair, considering moving to the couch out of spite, but he can’t as long as that bed is there with the memory of his grandmother attached to it. He reaches beside him for the closest thing he has to read. His fingers come in contact with the cover of a leather bound book and he stops, slowly pulling his hand away from the copy of _Mansfield Park_ he had been reading out loud to his grandmother.

He gives up, closing his eyes and trying to picture the events of the day to come, making them familiar so that he doesn’t find himself thrown for a loop and breaking down at some point when it isn’t convenient. Somewhere between his fifth rendition of walking from his rental car to the funeral home, he falls back to sleep, his dreams picking up swiftly where they left off.

The tugging returns, lighter and less urgent this time. Sebastian flexes his fingers, barely aware that he’s moving his hand, but it’s on the forefront of his mind now, keeping him locked into a place between awake and asleep.

_“Honey? Have you seen my tie? I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”_

_“You would think you don’t want to marry me, what with the way pieces of your tux keep disappearing.”_

_“I don’t think it’s because I don’t want to marry you,” Sebastian says, wrapping his arms around a trim waist and holding on tight, “I think it’s just that I don’t want to get out of bed if I have you naked in it.”_

More laughter, right by his ear, and the tugging grows harder, but Sebastian only laughs back, shifting lower in his seat. He feels a kiss on his cheek, soft lips brushing against his skin, a warm caress of breath causing goose bumps to bloom. He raises his hand to cover the spot, hoping to hold onto the sensation for as long as possible.

_“Oh, God, Sebastian! Yes…right…right there! Don’t stop! Please, don’t stop!”_

_“I won’t gorgeous…mmm…I won’t,” Sebastian grunts. “Don’t worry.”_

_“I…ergh…I don’t know how much longer I’m going to…”_

_“That’s alright, babe. I’m right there with you.”_

_“Oh, Sebastian…” a delicious moan echoes in the air around him, “I love you so much.”_

_Sweat rolls down Sebastian’s skin. He pants into the darkness, reaching out a hand for the beautiful man meeting his hips with every thrust._

_“I…I love you, too,” Sebastian sighs as his body finally gives in and he cums inside the gorgeous man he pledged his life to hours before._

Sebastian feels the tugging more frantically now, as if one more pull will tear his finger from his hand, but he doesn’t want to wake from what he rationally knows has to be a dream.

_The body bowed before him, covered in a dewy sheen of sweat, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, is so familiar. Sebastian knows this man. Sebastian wants this man._

_Sebastian needs this man._

_“Look at me,” Sebastian whispers. He hears is own voice in his ears and he knows he’s speaking out loud. Is there a chance this isn’t a dream? It all feels so real._

_The man sighs, finally calm enough to put together a coherent sentence._

_“But…but I look like a mess.”_

_Sebastian rolls his eyes._

_“You’re gorgeous,” he says, “no matter what you think. And the way you look after you’ve been fucked hard is probably my favorite look on you.”_

_The man giggles, high pitched like the tinkling of a bell._

_“Could you be anymore crass?”_

_“I’m sure I could,” Sebastian says with a smirk. “I was thinking of reciting an entire ode to how delicious your ass looks covered in my cum.”_

_“Oh dear Lord,” the man chuckles._

_“Just…just look at me,” Sebastian says softly. “Please.”_

_The man’s head drops, shaking slightly._

_“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”_

_“I’ve been warned,” Sebastian says, waiting, holding his breath and waiting._

It’s almost surreal how this man begins to move, his whole spine rippling as he turns slowly, as if Sebastian’s watching a film on half speed.

The film suddenly starts to stutter, coming to a screeching halt, replaced by the persistent thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap of the film strip coming off the reel.

Or something more persistent. Something louder.

Someone knocking on his door.

Sebastian raises a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, carding through his hair with his fingers. A single strand of hair catches and pulls.

“Ouch.” Sebastian twitches, pulling his hand down in front of his eyes expecting to see the hair twined around his finger.

He doesn’t expect to see a bright red string tied in a double-knot to his ring finger.

“What the fuck!?“

***

“Thanks for lending me a suit,” Kurt says, twirling his empty coffee cup in his hands, “and for letting me come with you. But, why were there only three of us there?”

Sebastian stops in the middle of raising his cup to his lips, biting back the sour taste rising in the back of his throat.

“Because we were the only ones who deserved to be there.”

Kurt nods, not quite understanding, but agreeing nonetheless. The service was lovely, intimate, held in a smaller room of the funeral home decorated entirely in white calla lilies and purple lilacs. A few obligatory prayers were recited, but otherwise not much was said. Sebastian spent almost an hour standing by his grandmother’s casket, whispering in her ear and gently touching her folded hands. Before they left Sebastian placed a kiss into her hair and even though he tried to discreetly wipe it away, Kurt saw a single tear run down his cheek. Afterward Sebastian bid a fond farewell to the only other person there, an older woman he introduced simply as Antoinette, and without a verbal invitation he took Kurt out for a cup of coffee.

Kurt knows that Sebastian is in a considerable amount of pain. He can see it written on every inch of the man’s face, and in the way his sparkling green eyes become distant every so often without warning, then snap back when he realizes a pause in the conversation has gone on too long. Sebastian must have his reasons for not telling anyone else about the service. Hopefully someday he’ll explain them to Kurt.

Sebastian takes a gulp of his nearly cold coffee, fiddling absentmindedly with the red string tied to his finger. Sebastian twists it every so often and starts to notice that when he moves the string on his finger, Kurt reaches for the string on his own finger, as if the two really are connected. Or maybe Sebastian had a long, exhausting night and he is seeing what he wants to see.

“So, now what?” Kurt asks, staring at the red string. “Will you be going back to France now that your grandmother is gone?”

“That was my original plan,” Sebastian admits, sitting back in his seat and watching Kurt’s eyes narrow, “but…”

“But, what?”

“Well, I don’t _have_ to be anywhere really,” Sebastian says. “And like you, I had kind of an…interesting night.”

Kurt smiles, biting his lower lip in a way that makes Sebastian long to kiss him. He knows what Kurt would taste like, too; mocha and peppermint. It’s a combination he knows he’ll dream about for weeks.

Kurt shakes his head and laughs.

“Okay,” Kurt says, a little apprehensive, a little giddy, “well, I never really liked you, but I trust your grandmother. Maybe…maybe we should give this a chance.”

Sebastian feels his body go numb at those words; they come back to him like a sledgehammer to the back of the head, and suddenly he remembers all his dreams – every last one.

He smirks, feeling more like himself suddenly than he has in months. He reaches across the table and takes Kurt’s hand, feeling a strange twinge of electricity when the string on his hand brushes the string on Kurt’s finger. Kurt’s eyes flick up to meet Sebastian’s, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“I was kind of hoping you’d say that.”

 


End file.
